Modest In Temper, Bold In Deed
by Caraine
Summary: Written as part of the CMDA Secret Santa exchange. A chance childhood meeting between Lady Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford sets them on the beginning of their respective paths towards becoming members of the Inquisition.


_Written as part of the CMDA Secret Santa exchange. Thanks to MomoDieKatz for her beta._

* * *

Her family thought it to be quite the darling thing. Their youngest daughter, their little butterfly, insistent that she would one day become a Knight-Templar. Who would entertain the idea of Lady Sharea Trevelyan ever embodying more than the robes and incense of a Chantry Sister? She was far too delicate and fragile to ever serve the Maker beyond that of quiet contemplation and pious prayer. Ever since her strange and sudden illness had come upon her two years ago, shortly after her tenth birthday, the young girl was forever ashen-coloured, her eyes dull and her movements lethargic. She ate little, often remarking about a constant nausea, and rarely possessed the energy to stray far from the confines of the family estate and gardens.

Yet Sharea held onto her peculiar dream. Sickly in body, she may be; but not so in mind. The youngest Trevelyan occupied herself with intense study, insisting upon book after book on all manner of subjects. Her family indulged her, their connections to the Chantry as well as throughout Thedas granting the young girl access to all manner of tomes, each lovingly savoured between restorative dreamless naps. She knew more of theology than many a Revered Mother, she could identify and discuss any number of herbs and their medicinal uses, and she understood a great deal of the demands of Templar life. All of this knowledge was augmented by her various relations who represented a fair number of prominent Chantry members within the state of Ostwick.

Amongst her family, there were several favoured people, mainly because they doted upon Lady Sharea. One such person was that of her Uncle Frederick, her mother's elder brother, and a man who had no family of his own because of his duties as a Knight-Captain in the Templar Order. He regarded Sharea as a daughter rather than a niece and so was especially vulnerable to her spell, often arguing for her wants and wishes even when it was in direct contrast to that of her parents. He indulged her interest in joining the Templar Order despite her apparent physical deficiencies and would sit with her discussing the many different facets of the Order. It helped to clarify in Sharea's mind that the Templars were not to be questioned, and that she could feel safe amongst their ranks no matter what.

Her ambition grew and she resolved that her Uncle would be her ultimate Champion. It would take a great deal of persuasion to convince the man to advance her cause, but Sharea was of the mind that she could achieve the near-impossible. Why not? So the young girl set about putting her plan into motion: she knew of her Uncle's interest in dwarven artefacts and she had researched the existence of what was rumoured to be a golem in a remote village in Ferelden called Honnleath. She would request to accompany him as a gift for her thirteenth birthday, just her and her Uncle. Over the course of the trip, she would seek to win him over so that he might take the first steps towards ensuring her initiation into the Templar Order.

No amount of energy or wit was spared by Sharea as she first convinced her Uncle and then her parents that this trip be permitted. Were their family not so devout, or Sharea not so sickly, they may have considered the girl as a future diplomat between nations. Even at barely thirteen, she was a force to be reckoned, maintaining a detached objectivity whilst deflecting every objection with coolly concise fact. Her mother might have considered banning her youngest daughter from books if there were anything else which Sharea could do to pass the time.

But in the end, what the youngest Lady Trevelyan wanted, she inevitably received. Her parents agreed to the trip but on the condition that the girl not set one foot out of her carriage beyond what was necessary. For someone who was bedridden most the time, it was barely a condition at all. So it was that Lady Sharea found herself in the company of her Uncle, travelling first to the port of Ostwick and then across the Waking Sea. Her perpetual illness surprisingly did not worsen during the trip despite the young girl being unable to administer her self-prepared concoction of herbs, in fact there was a point towards the end of the sailing when her health seemed to improve, a fact which Lady Sharea was quick to attribute to the hearty sea air and nothing more. Whilst her Uncle celebrated her improvement, the girl was quick to distract him with questions about the Templar Order, enticing him into telling her more than ever before.

Alas, he did not tell her what she wanted to hear. Physical prowess was one of the first and foremost qualities sought in a Templar. How was Lady Sharea to overcome her strange illness so that she might demonstrate such ability? It was something to which even her book-learning could not offer an answer. Still, Sharea determined to find one: always could she find an answer amongst the pages of her books. This would be no exception.

Therefore, when the pair finally reached Ferelden and disembarked from the ship into a waiting carriage, the young girl refused to be perturbed by the unforeseen setback. Her Uncle, aware that he had unsettled his precious butterfly, made no further comment upon the Order. They spent the remainder of their trip discussing the finer details of dwarven culture and to what extent the rumours surrounding the statue within the village of Honnleath might be true. All the while, Sharea gained more vitality, as though the land of the Dog Lords held some invigorating ingredient. Nevertheless, the young Lady Trevelyan insisted upon retrieving more of her medicine from her trunk, remarking that she did not want to tempt fickle fortune. Alas, her fears proved well-founded as Sharea once more fell foul of her illness only the next day, once more withering into sallow-skinned frailty. It was a pity, her Uncle conceded with heavy heart, but nothing which was unusual for his delicate butterfly.

Upon arriving in Honnleth after days of travelling, it was close to dusk. Nevertheless, the small number of villagers were eager to assist the visitors, word having travelled faster than carriage, as they showed the Knight-Captain and his sickly niece to their bedrooms. Bidding her Uncle goodnight, Sharea retired to bed and locked the door, checking that no one would gain entry without her permission.

Her large trunk had been carried from the carriage and placed at the bottom of the bed. She moved towards it and heaved open the lid, pushing it back so she could rummage freely through her belongings, moving and shifting items as her fingers searched for the woody knot near the bottom which was spring-loaded and would trigger a secret compartment to open. A small leather pouch of dried herbs nestled inside which Sharea seized upon with a fervour akin to that of her family reciting the Chant of Light. Having requested a pitcher of freshly-drawn well water in her room, she sprinkled some of the herbs into a glass, wincing as a light dusting fell over her hand causing blisters to form upon the skin, before dousing the herbs with water. Watching as the herbs swirled in the water, turning it a light pink, Sharea readied herself and washed the concoction down in one gulp. It tasted _awful_. Stumbling backwards, the girl hastily sat down on the bed before the wooziness could topple her, lying down and curling into a ball with her eyes scrunched shut and her teeth gritted as she waited out the effects of her medicine. When she was a Templar, she would never ever have to do this again! At least the medicine severed her connection to the troublesome Fade.

The next morning when uncle and niece reunited for breakfast, Sharea could do no more than pick at her plateful of food, uninterested in even the most basic of offerings. Her Uncle deflated at sight of his butterfly returned so completely to her prior state and asked if there was anything which he could do for her. Summoning a smile, Sharea waved him away and explained that she would spend the day in bed, as was usual. Her Uncle, she insisted, was to go and speak to the village elders to gain more information about the statue. He could then tell her all about over their evening meal. Whilst the man was reluctant to leave his niece, he appreciated that this was not out of the ordinary for Sharea, and he was as intrigued by the mystery of the statue as the girl knew he would be.

On returning to her room, Sharea made to climb into bed yet noticed that something was out of place. The little leather pouch was sitting in full view upon the dresser. But rather than being plump and full, it was flattened and smooth. Almost as though…

"Maker, no!" she gasped, rushing across the room with what little energy she possessed and snatching up the pouch, panicked to discover her first instincts were proven correct. Somehow, the little pouch was empty of its contents, likely knocked by a maid and spilled across the floor. There was no evidence of such a thing but it was the only explanation. Nibbling on her thumbnail, Sharea tried desperately to think of a solution. She needed her medicine. But it was not something which she could simply send a request to a local healer. It was a carefully crafted balance of various herbs which she had concocted herself, using information from a variety of sources. Even the healers in Ostwick did not know that she prescribed her own remedy to her mysterious illness.

Sinking down upon the bed, Sharea sought an answer to her situation. Her heart thudded in her chest and her breath was already short simply through the shock of finding her herbs gone. She was in no fit state to do anything for the moment. Curling up on the bed, she did what came naturally and dozed without dreaming, allowing her body time to regain some of its strength. She would need it if she was to search for a replacement to her herbs without alerting her Uncle to the very sensitive issue.

A few hours of fitful sleep saw Sharea more recovered. She rose and pulled her cloak from her trunk, easily accessible given how often she felt the cold. Wrapping it firmly around herself, she stepped out of her room and made for the main door of the tavern, mindful to keep out of sight of any passing servants. Once out of the tavern, she headed directly for the woods surrounding the village, knowing that she would need to forage for the uncommon herbs she required. Hopefully it would not take overly long and she would be snug in her bed, fully dosed, by the time her Uncle returned from his investigations into the mysterious statue.

Weariness pulled at her limbs and sweat beaded her forehead as the young Lady trampled through the forest, unaccustomed to such physical exertion. She never could manage far herself. And this was the same girl who dreamed of one day becoming a Knight-Templar? Even Sharea could not deny the irony. Her throat was soon parched and when she caught sight of sunlight reflecting upon the smooth surface of a lake, she was quick to alter course so that she might slake her thirst.

Emerging from the trees, she admired the prettiness of the lake. Lily-pads stretched across the smooth surface of the water whilst bulrushes dotted along the shoreline. A wooden jetty struck out towards the centre of the water before sinking into the soft mud. She made for the land-end of the structure, curious to see how the lake looked from the centre, when she overheard the unmistakeable _swish_ _swish swish_ of something being struck through the air. Keeping close behind a tree, Sharea peeked around only to see a boy, similar in age to her, swinging a wooden sword around as he battled with some invisible foe.

With her thirst momentarily forgotten, Sharea stepped out from behind the tree and cleared her throat with the imperiousness of one who had never been denied. Upon hearing the unexpected sound, the boy visibly startled and spun around, hiding the sword behind his back as though he had been caught partaking in some closely guarded secret. That only intrigued the young Lady Trevelyan further.

"I saw you," she pointed out, smug in her superior position of knowledge. "Fighting dragons, were we?"

A blush raced across his cheeks as the blonde-haired boy took a step backwards, his hazel eyes darting every which way as he weighed up his options. "N-n-no," he shook his head. "I was… practising."

Her eyes narrowed as Sharea studied the stranger. He was reasonably tall and well-built; to wield a sword required such a physique, she knew – much to her own chagrin. It was conceivable that he was indeed practising, although why was another matter entirely.

"Practising for what, pray tell?" she questioned drily, having read thoroughly on the subject of Ferelden and its perils prior to commencing upon the journey with her Uncle. It was true that bloodshed did occur but not so often as to be commonplace.

The boy backed up another few steps. "The Templars…" he murmured, shifting from foot to foot, his arms still behind his back as he clutched his makeshift wooden sword. "They teach me some of the basics. That's why I was practising, my Lady."

The tone of his voice emphasised that the title was not intended only to appease. He knew who she was, and it panicked Sharea more than she cared to admit. "How do you know who I am?" she demanded curtly.

"Well, I... everyone… I mean…" His expression morphed into one of pure helplessness as he opted to simply tell the truth. "My sister, Mia, helped to ready the rooms for you. The whole village knows of you and your uncle."

It should not have been so surprising. Her initial scare receded as Sharea judged there was truth in his statement. Not that it spared the boy from her irritation. "Your name, if you please."

" _My_ name?" he squeaked, eyes widening.

"It is only fair since you know mine."

Sighing, the boy spoke as though he were signing his own warrant. "Cullen Rutherford."

"Very good," Sharea acknowledged with a tilt of her head. Her lip curled into a smirk as she continued, "well, _Ser_ Cullen, and what do _you_ know of the Templar Order beyond a few basic sword moves?" It struck her as amusing that some boy from the near-wilds of Ferelden might share her own dream of becoming a Knight-Templar. Being descended from a long line of servants to the Chantry, as well as her own knowledge of the Order, Sharea considered herself well placed to judge the suitability of other candidates. This one? Not likely.

"A Templar helps people," he replied, undeterred by her obvious mockery.

The simplicity of the statement prompted Sharea to snort in a markedly unladylike fashion. Never had any of her family reduced the duty of a Knight-Templar into such a short sentence. "No, they don't. They keep mages under control."

Cullen shook his head, relaxing his stance as he brought his sword in front of him and rested the tip against the soft ground. "No, they protect mages. They make sure that mages are kept safe within the Circles."

"What about an apostate?" Sharea asked with a smug air, assuming he would not know the difference in terms. "Do Templars protect apostates too?" Of course a Templar would never help or protect an apostate! That was why apostates went to such great lengths to hide their magical ability from even the closest members of their family.

"If they choose to join a Circle, yes." Cullen raised his shoulders in a slight shrug. "It's even more important to try and help them." He blinked before glancing down at his sword. "I would be very scared if I were an apostate. I would like to think someone would help me."

Folding her arms across her chest, Sharea tried once more to elicit some sense from this boy! "What if an apostate walked by right now? You would have a conversation with them just like we're having at this moment?"

Cullen chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before nodding slowly, "so long as they didn't try to hurt either you or me."

His easy conviction was dumbfounding to the young Lady Trevelyan. She opened and closed her mouth several times before finally settling on, "you're never going to be a Templar."

The crushed expression upon his face was akin to the taste of her herbal medicine. What was worse was that Sharea heard her mother's voice in the words she uttered, and knew exactly the blow she inflicted upon the boy. Maybe she was not so well-placed to decide on who was and was not fit to be a Templar.

"Wait!" she called out in a hurry, making forward so that she could try and catch him. Her foot caught in the fabric of her dress and she tumbled down in a cloud of skirts. Despite the ground being softened by proximity to the lake, she was hardly one accustomed to trips and falls in recent years and she could feel hot tears upon her cheeks even as she tried to recover herself.

All at once there was the disconcerting sensation of two strong hands beneath her arms and Sharea found herself being righted, the world once more as it should be. She blinked only to find Cullen kneeling in front of her, his gaze full of concern as he cast an experienced eye over her. Obviously concluding that nothing serious had befallen the girl, he offered her a tight smile.

"I have two younger sisters," he explained. "A younger brother too. I spend a lot of time picking them up after a fall."

Sharea could feel her cheeks warming. "I… thank you, Ser Cullen." This time the title was not dripping with incredulity. In fact, she could see a little of a dashing knight in the features of the boy. "I'm the youngest. I've never had to pick anyone up."

His smile blossomed into a warm one and he gripped her both of her hands, helping her back up onto her feet. "You're welcome, my Lady."

"Oh, um, it's Sharea." Guilt was a strange thing, was it not. One misjudged action and she was ready to dispense with the social privilege which had followed her throughout her short life. "And I wanted to say I'm sorry. For being mean." She cleared her throat and suddenly remembered her thirst. Licking her lips, she tried to continue but found that her tongue was traitorous, refusing to form the words.

Observing her discomfort, Cullen retrieved a water flask from where it had been lying against the base of a tree and handed it to her. She took a sip and then handed it back to him, focusing on the flask as opposed to his expression. "I want to be a Templar too. My family tell me all the time 'you're never going to be a Templar'. I'm sorry I said it to you."

"You want to be a Templar too?" he echoed in open disbelief, but it was not in the same tone as when her family challenged her. He was genuinely surprised.

"I want to be in control," she nodded, before sneaking a glance at him from beneath her eyelashes. He had said so little and yet she found herself captivated by the image he drew of knights protecting the mages, helping apostates and defending the world. Who protected the Templars, she wondered for the first time. "My family are either Chantry clerics or Templar knights. None of them speak like you do. Do you really believe that a Templar should help others?"

Before Cullen could reply, there was an outbreak of shouts from the direction of the village, all of which featured her name in some shape or form. Paling, Sharea realised that her absence must have been noticed and now the whole of Honnleath were likely searching for her. She bit down on her lower lip as she glanced wildly about the clearing, hoping against hope for a glimpse of the necessary herbs so that she might replace her medicine before her Uncle could find her out. But there was nothing to be had. The stark reality of her situation hit her and Sharea found herself to be surprisingly gracious in what she knew now was defeat. The Maker did indeed work in mysterious ways.

"Come, Ser Cullen," the young Lady Trevelyan gathered up her skirts as she made for the path winding through the trees. "A true Knight-Templar would not allow a Lady to walk through a forest unescorted." She supposed it would be too much to ask that he somehow save her from the trouble she knew she would be in! Even with her dress dirt-streaked and her apparent illness evident in her pallor, Sharea knew that her Uncle would have choice words with her once they were in the privacy of the inn.

Her assumption was proven correct. As soon as the villagers caught sight of the young teenagers, they were quick to take charge of the situation, brushing Cullen aside as they ushered Sharea onto the back of a sturdy pony, insisting that she walk no further. The last glimpse she had of the boy was standing upon the worn track through the woods, his water flask slung over one shoulder and his wooden sword clutched in his hand, watching as the group departed. She held up her hand to wave a farewell but one of the men obscured her view before she could see whether Cullen waved back.

As expected, her Uncle was furious over his butterfly's disappearance, his worry manifesting in anger. Yet Sharea knew well-enough how to wrap the man around her little finger, expertly soothing him until he was of a more receptive frame of mind. There was a matter which deserved immediate attention.

"Uncle Frederick, how does one become a Templar?" she asked, her face scrunched in concentration. "If they don't have connections to the Chantry, I mean."

The older man frowned, taken aback by her earnestness. "Why do you ask?"

"I met a boy when I was in the woods. He wants to be a Templar." She gazed up at her Uncle from the bed, having been sent there immediately upon her return. "He would be a good Templar, Uncle. I really think he would."

His expression furrowed but she could tell he was more intrigued than irritated. After a long moment, he promised that he would make enquiries about the young boy and see if he agreed that this Cullen Rutherford was a promising young initiate. If so, he would speak with the local Chantry about approaching the boy's family and requesting permission to accept him into the service of the Maker.

Sharea could not help but smile to herself. _I helped_. _I'm not a Templar but I helped._ It was something which had never occurred to her before: that she could help as she was, not when she became something else. All because of one chance meeting.

For the rest of the day, Sharea remained in bed. That night, she did not worry about the absence of her herbal medication. Neither did she worry the next night, nor the night after that. By the time Sharea returned to Ostwick, there was a brightness in her eyes and colour in her cheeks. Her Uncle, however, looked ashen and worn.

A luxurious carriage awaited them upon disembarking from the ship, ready to return them to the Trevelyan estate. Before stepping into it with a marked bounce, Sharea turned and flung her arms around her Uncle's neck, kissing his cheek.

"I know what you have to do, Uncle," she soothed. With each hour they had drawn closer to Ostwick, the more burdened her Knight-Captain Uncle became as he bore witness to the effects upon Sharea when her body was entirely purged of her specifically crafted herbal medicine. A medicine with a strikingly similar purpose to magebane. His butterfly had finally revealed her true colours – colours which had manifested just after her tenth birthday. "Don't fret."

"But you will need to go to the Circle. The Templars…"

"Will help and protect me," Sharea stated with all the firmness of her thirteen years, before beginning to smile. If Templars helped people, then so could a mage. Since she was already the latter, why insist upon and strive to be the former? "And I'm going to learn how to use my magic to do the same for them."

Maybe, one day, Ser Cullen and others like him might be in need of the help and protection of a mage.


End file.
